


Gimme a Little Spirit

by red_crate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Situational Crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: Peter stares at him, enjoying the way Stiles fidgets under his attention. They've got nothing but time right now, until Scott or Derek calls to tell them what is going on with the wendigo situation. There's no reason Peter shouldn't entertain himself while he waits.





	Gimme a Little Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Been thinking about this for a while, so here we go.

 

Peter waits until the rest of the pack is gone, when Stiles lets out a precious, petulant little sigh and flings himself down on the couch. He allows Stiles his dramatics, meandering over to the armchair.

“I must say, that skirt really does wonderful things for you.” Peter leers, tracing up Stiles’ legs with his gaze.

Stiles remembers himself, snapping his legs shut where they'd spread out from habit. He tugs the skirt down in the front for good measure. “Fucking lech.”

The blush creeping along his cheeks highlights the waft of embarrassment Peter catches on his scent. He can also smell the thread of pleasure beneath that, inspired by his words. He's always been Peter's favorite to tease and flirt with because Stiles is so receptive even when he tries to be unaffected.

Peter stares at him, enjoying the way Stiles fidgets under his attention. They've got nothing but time right now, until Scott or Derek calls to tell them what is going on with the wendigo situation. There's no reason Peter shouldn't entertain himself while he waits.

“It's spirit week.” Stiles defends as he looks to the side, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I always thought that was a silly tradition, but I suppose it has its merits.” Peter relaxes in the chair. “Was there a wig? Did you stuff your bra, Stiles?” He smirks lazily, closing his eyes because he knows the teen will assume he's imagining just that.

Stiles scoffs. He smells like humiliation and interest. “I didn't even want to do this. Kira goaded all of us into dressing up.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, looking back at Stiles who squirms some more. Up to this point, Peter has only been prodding for the fun of it. The defensiveness in Stiles’ voice piques his interest, makes the predator inside lift its head.

“What are you hiding under that sweatshirt?” He asks with a soft voice.

The splotches of color on Stiles’ cheeks darken even as he rolls his eyes. “Ugh.”

He sits up and unzips the hoodie, flipping both sides out of the way to reveal a tight, button-up shirt. It's clearly cut for a more feminine frame, small pearly buttons and deep collar that would reveal cleavage if Stiles had any. If Stiles were to take too deep a breath the shirt would be in danger of popping open. A strip of skin is exposed between the hem of the shirt and the top of the skirt, a tiny little roll of flesh and a hint of hair connecting Stiles’ belly button and a much more intimate area.

Peter has the sudden urge to run his teeth along all of Stiles’ soft places. It's not exactly a new desire, but he's bored enough, and Stiles seems a little more receptive than usual.

“Come here?” He tacks on the inquiry, instead of commanding, because he knows Stiles will automatically shut him down if he doesn't. Peter stays still, letting Stiles choose his fate.

Stiles makes a face, confusion and distrust passing over his features before he makes his decision. He always was a curious one. When he stands up, Stiles tugs the hoodie the rest of the way off and drops it onto the couch. Three steps and he's standing directly in front of Peter, calves brushing where Peter's legs are sprawled out.

He's tall and lithe, not skinny or boney the way all those layers he usually wears imply. Stiles has wide shoulders that cause the stitching along the top of the shirt to strain. The thin material stretches across them, delicate shirt sleeves capped with satin that digs into Stiles' lightly muscled biceps. He can't stay still with Peter watching him, his fingers twitch at the hem of the dark skirt.

Peter slides forward in his seat, widening his legs so he has room. “Hmm.” He hums with consideration. He bites back a pleased smile when Stiles shifts his foot nervously.

Stiles doesn't like being looked at like this just as much as he _does_ enjoy it. Peter can smell the telltale scent of arousal bubbling up from Stiles’ pores. When he reaches forward and cups Stiles’ hips in each hand, Peter isn't surprised by the way he goes rigid or by the sharp scent of apprehension that cuts through the budding arousal.

“Uh,” Stiles stammers eloquently. He shifts to accommodate the pull of Peter's hands, stepping closer.

“Go Cyclones, indeed,” Peter mutters, amused with the embarrassed scoff Stiles lets out. He runs his thumbs along the top of the skirt. Louder, he asks, “How do you like wearing this?” He looks up at Stiles, making sure his face conveys mild interest more than anything else.

Stiles shrugs, breathing shallowly as if he's worried about moving too much. “It was easy enough. All I had to do was put on what Kira gave me.” He's being deliberately obtuse, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of honestly answering Peter's question.

That's telling, right there.

Peter gently pulls Stiles closer, slowly enough that there is no resistance. “What else did she give you to wear?”

He knows it's very unlikely that Stiles is wearing anything other than briefs under that skirt, but he likes the idea of panties. He wonders if someday Stiles’ curiosity will bring him to the point where he tries on a pair. Peter lets his hands slip down a few inches, down to Stiles’ thighs. His fingers rest just shy of the swell of Stiles’ ass.

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles says, “You're being a lot creepier than usual.” He doesn't push Peter's hands off or step away. This close, Peter can see the minute expansion of Stiles’ pupils.

“The usual amount, I think.” Peter smiles cheekily. A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially when Stiles could easily brush him off.

Stiles shakes his head, amused despite himself. The apprehension Peter could smell is dissipating, overshadowed by interest.

“Scott said he'd call us within the hour.” Stiles bites at his bottom lip. His words came out breathy, cautious.

Peter cocks his head to the side, predatory smile on his lips as he holds Stiles’ gaze. “He did. An hour is a long time though.” When he tightens his grip on Stiles’ legs, there is no resistance or cutting remark.

Stiles sucks in a breath and his hands flutter at his sides uselessly when Peter presses his face against Stiles’ warm stomach. This close, Peter's senses are overwhelmed with Stiles’ existence. He closes his eyes to revel, slipping his fingers lower and lower until they skim flesh. He slides his hands back up, this time skin to skin.

“Peter,” Stiles warns with very little steel in his voice. It's a token protest. His fingers come to rest on the back of Peter's head.

Following his urge from earlier, the one that started all of this, Peter opens his mouth and drags his teeth against that strip of exposed skin between top and skirt. The squeak that comes out of Stiles makes him smile. He lightly bites at the soft, sensitive flesh, using just enough pressure to make Stiles tug at Peter's hair and let out a worried sigh.

“Wha—” Stiles goes up on his tiptoes when Peter sucks a mark onto his stomach.

He tastes like clean sweat and desire, nervous energy edged with the bitter tang of medication. Stiles’ heartbeat is loud in Peter's ear. The surround sound coming from Stiles’ chest and groin, blood pumping through arteries and veins. Peter inhales sharply, reining in his sudden desire to rend flesh and lap up the blood.

Instead, he contents himself with pushing Stiles’ skirt up the rest of the way and ducking his head beneath it. He was right about the briefs. The fabric is faded from repeated washings. Stiles’ cock is rapidly hardening, straining against the confines. Peter fits his mouth around the shape of it, wetting the underwear and grazing his teeth along the shaft.

Stiles shudders and his fingers twist in Peter's hair as he rocks ever so carefully. Peter stores that bit of information away. The few times he'd bothered to think about it, he'd wondered if Stiles would respond to a little pain or the threat of it; he's pleased to note that he was right in his musings.

Tucking his fingers in the elastic of Stiles’ briefs, Peter tugs them down his hips and thighs until they fall to his ankles. He doesn't give Stiles a chance to step out of them, taking the teen’s cock head in his mouth as soon as it sprang free.

“Ohhh,” Stiles hunches forward, sounding exactly like the novice he is. “Ohmygod.”

Peter licks at the sudden onslaught of precome that beads up along Stiles’ slit. It's a little bitter, completely visceral and exactly what Peter wants right now. He sucks at the head, using the tip of his tongue to press just below the flare, where Stiles is surely the most sensitive.

“Pe—Peter,” Stiles breathes. His blunt nails rake over Peter's scalp. It would be rude, but Peter likes it.

He likes the way Stiles can't keep himself from pushing further into his mouth. Peter opens up his throat, allows the intrusion until his lips brush the root of Stiles’ cock. He isn't overly large, but he has a nice girth. If Peter were human, the stretch of his throat would linger for a few hours after they finished.

Stiles drops one hand to twist in the shoulder of Peter's t-shirt, grinding in hard enough that Peter starts to get irritated. He unsheathes his claws, gripping Stiles by the back of the legs so they almost cut into the delicate insides of his thighs.

“Fuck!” Stiles comes like that, suddenly. He realizes what he's doing, slowly unclenching his fists as his orgasm rolls through him. “Sorry! Sorry!”

Peter swallows down the come, rolling his eyes at Stiles. He’s gratified by the way Stiles tremors as Peter's throat and tongue work against him. When he pulls off, Stiles pats Peter on the head in an uncoordinated movement that is endearing enough that Peter doesn't bite him on the palm.

Instead, Peter is nice enough to pull Stiles’ underwear back up and straighten his skirt. Aside from the sweat and the flush on his face, it almost looks like nothing untoward happened. His _scent_ on the other hand, gives everything away. Peter sits back, arms thrown out along the sides of the chair, and gives Stiles an expectant look.

He's hard in his jeans, even though he hadn't really planned on that. Peter had just wanted to rile Stiles up a little, give him something to think about later. He should have known he would be affected by wrecking Stiles so easily. Cupping himself, Peter lazily rakes his gaze up and down Stiles’ body. The air is still thick with the scent of sex and desire.

Stiles looks away after a second of staring at where Peter is rubbing himself. He scratches the back of his neck, eyes skirting to look at Peter and back again. Peter is surprised when he slowly sinks to his knees. The skirt fans out over his lap, and Stiles fiddles with the hem, smoothing it out.

“I don't...this…” Stiles clears his throat. His voice is rough from orgasm and unease. He sits forward, between Peter's legs. After making a frustrated noise, Stiles says, “Look, you can come on my face. I guess.” It seems to have taken every ounce of determination in him to force those words out.

Peter laughs lowly, delighted by the turn of events. This is much better than listening to Stiles bitch about his friends leaving him behind or rereading the same paperback for the hundredth time.

“Tit for tat, princess. Open up that pretty mouth of yours.” Peter arches his hips up to ease the down fly of his jeans.

Stiles blushes, scowling even as he braces his arms on Peter's thighs. Smiling sweetly, Peter pulls his cock out, holding it helpfully for Stiles. The glare Stiles gives him is almost as satisfying as the first touch of wet warmth against the shaft of his cock.

Dropping his gaze to Peter's midsection, Stiles licks up and down several times, getting used to the, no doubt, new idea. When he finally makes a pass over the head, Peter growls with impatience. Stiles looks back up at him, scent going dark and _oh_ . _Of course_. Peter takes a deep breath, pulling in more of the freshly simmering arousal coming from Stiles.

He grabs Stiles by the crown of his hair, pulling him closer until he has to open up and let Peter push inside. “ _Suck me_.” Peter demands, hitching his hips carefully so he doesn't choke him.

Stiles takes as much as he can, going just past Peter's cock head, and hollows his cheeks. The pressure is nice, and Stiles has enough sense to stroke what he can't fit in his mouth. The drool is messy, but Peter can forgive that under the circumstances. Besides, after less than a minute, Stiles starts pushing forward, using his tongue to taste and feel everything.

Peter groans softly at Stiles’ exploration. He's obviously losing himself in the experience, collecting data to analyze later. Stiles starts bobbing his head, twisting his fist around the shaft. When Peter rolls his hips up, Stiles tries taking more into his mouth. This time he does choke.

“Easy,” Peter guides, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair. He cups his jaw with his other hand, gently tugging Stiles’ mouth open further. “Open your throat and relax.” He can't help the fact that he speaks softly.

Stiles looks up at him, eyes shiny from the tears that sprang up as he choked. There's something decisive in his expression and he nods just a little. How sweet.

Peter lets Stiles go back down, taking more and then less, a not quite steady rhythm that still brings Peter closer and closer to the edge. He can smell Stiles’ conviction, brighter than the lust that has come back. Peter closes his eyes, picturing Stiles hard in his underwear, his cock pushing against that little skirt he's wearing.

A phone rings, shrill and annoying. Stiles pulls off Peter's cock suddenly, which is even more irritating. Peter tightens his fingers in Stiles’ hair and pulls him back.

“It's my phone.” He pushes Stiles’ face back towards his cock.

But Stiles licks his lip nervously. “It might be Scott. Or Derek.” Peter watches him glance at his groin.

With a sigh, Peter digs his phone out of his pocket and answers, pushing Stiles down once again and giving him a pointed look.

“What.” He barks into the phone.

Stiles’ face is red, but he tentatively wraps his hand around Peter's cock again and starts sucking the head. He's glaring at Peter still, but the effect is lost.

“Kira and Malia took care of the wendigo, but now we have to deal with the paramedics that showed up.” Derek sounds a little out of breath and very frustrated.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Then everything is fine.”

“Yes.” Derek sighs, annoyed. “Tell Stiles he can go home. I think we'll be done here soon.”

Peter doesn't bother saying goodbye. He ends the call and drops his phone to the floor, uncaring. Stiles tries to pull off again, probably to ask what's going on, but Peter holds him down.

“Stay,” Peter rocks his hips up, and Stiles takes him further than he has yet. He also pinches Peter on the side, meanly. “Fuck you're a brat.” Peter knows he sounds amused. He groans when Stiles pinches him again, twisting the flesh this time.

“Careful with that, or you might find yourself choking on my dick again.” Peter half-warns. He slides the hand on the back of Stiles’ head down until he can wrap his fingers around the back of his neck.

Stiles makes an annoyed sound, but Peter ignores that in favor of enjoying the vibration along his cock. He's close now. Stiles doesn't pinch him anymore. Instead he focuses on sucking Peter as good as he can and stroking everything he can't fit in his mouth.

Peter stretches back in the chair, hips rocking in a steady rhythm. He's already thinking about next time he can get Stiles alone, about what he might let him do. He wishes he'd thought to get his tongue inside Stiles' tight little hole. He wants to work his fingers up there, stretch him out and get him good and wet. Peter imagines pushing his cock inside that pert ass, breeding Stiles full.

He comes like that, spilling in Stiles’ mouth and then over Stiles’ lips and chin when the teenager pulls back, coughing. Peter wraps his hand around Stiles’ where it's still on his cock, and strokes himself through his orgasm. More come dribbles out over their knuckles. Peter is shaking with the force of his release, ecstasy lighting up his nerves and senses.

“A little fucking warning next time.” Stiles grumbles, wiping at his face with his free hand. He smears the come on Peter's jeans.

Peter smirks, letting go of Stiles’ hand once he starts getting oversensitive. “Sure, sweetheart. We can negotiate.”

Stiles blinks, head snapping up to look at Peter when he realizes the implications of his own words. “Uh, no. This—” he points between the two of them and stands up, a little unsteady, “—isn’t happening again.”

Peter shrugs, smiling in amusement as he watches Stiles work his jaw and massage the hinge like he's sore. “We'll see.” He tucks himself back in his jeans.

Stiles scoffs, and coughs again. “Whatever.” His scent gives him away though. Peter can smell the anticipation on him.

Peter watches as Stiles shoves his arms back into his hoodie and violently zips it up, replacing his armour. Taking pity on him, Peter says, “Derek gave the all clear, said you can go home now.”

Stiles looks up from where he is messing with the drawstring on the hood. “Oh. Well. Good.”

Peter sits up a little straighter, softens his expression into something less challenging. “Are you good to get home?”

“I'm not twelve,” Stiles grabs his backpack from the desk and fishes his cellphone out to look at the screen. “Shit, Dad will be home soon.” He turns to go, without looking at Peter.

Letting him get to the door, Peter calls out, “Thanks for helping pass the time, Stiles. It was fun.”

The only reply he gets is the slam of the sliding door and the faint scent of excitement wafting over to him a second after Stiles has left.

Peter crosses his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. Yeah, they're going to have to explore that more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


End file.
